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Time of Hope	By : Sasunarufan13 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1768 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor make profit of it. J.K. Rowling owns it.

Chapter List
- 1-Time of Hope
- 1
Author's note: I think we can all agree that this has been one hell of a year (and 2021 isn't exactly looking much better, but I digress). I had plans to be more active in this fandom, but unfortunately that didn't happen, for which I apologise. That said, I still have not given up on this fandom and I do hope that I will manage to post more starting next year.
Regarding this oneshot: it's a disaster from start to finish :') This was supposed to be something short for Christmas and it turned out in this dumpster fire of a fic in which Christmas only really features at the end. I got too far into it to just give up and delete, however, so I'm still posting it. So yes, be warned LOL
Warnings: Draco's pov; canon up until the Final Battle; time skips; some drama; some angst; slash; mature content; fluff; author basically lost control around the middle; Sassy Harry
I hope this oneshot isn't too awful and I wish you all a Merry Christmas/Happy holidays/insert holiday of your choosing!
Time of Hope
If the war had taught him something, it was that his family would not always be on the winning side. It taught him that no matter how much he tried his best, that didn't mean he would succeed.
That had been a bitter realisation, made even worse when he witnessed how the Light side celebrated their victory after Potter had managed to vanquish the Dark Lord for good. They were the winners and they made that fact very clear when the time for trials arrived; everyone on the Light side out for blood and hungry to see the remaining Death Eaters and companions punished for being on the wrong side of the war.
Draco didn't have much hope of escaping the trails unscathed. He had even less hope that his father would escape without a severe sentence. Perhaps mother would be shown some leniency because she had helped out Potter, but even that was uncertain with how eager the court was to condemn everyone.
One month after his birthday, his trail and that of his parents started. He didn't look up when the charges were being read and he didn't react when people in the stands started hissing and hollering that they needed to be punished, only quietening down when Shacklebolt called for order in a booming voice.
They had found several students willing to testify against him and several others all too eager to testify against father and mother, even if they couldn't really give any decisive accusation against his mother, bar the sneer that she should have thought better than to marry a Malfoy.
Mother didn't react to those taunts, just remained sitting a bit further next to Draco with a serene look on her face as if she was merely overseeing the house elves preparing a party and not witnessing her own trial and that of her husband and son. He wished he could be just as calm as her. His stomach was churning madly and he was nearly sweating through his robes, keeping his gaze aimed to the floor as to not let anyone on to the fact that their hissed words and sneers were getting to him.
After a long parade of damning evidence against them had been delivered, an old frizzy haired witch knocked her cane on the floor and said in a raspy voice, "If that's the end of the testimonies, I suggest we now move on to the con-"
"Hold on, madam, there is still one more witness who would like to be heard," Shacklebolt interrupted her calmly.
Draco barely managed to cover his sigh. With all that damning evidence against him and his parents, what would one more witness matter? They were screwed either way, though mother at least might get off scotch-free as none of the claims managed to quite stick.
The frizzy haired witch narrowed her eyes and harrumphed, but settled back down in her seat. "Carry on then. Who's this last witness?"
"I'm the last witness," a smooth voice called out from somewhere on Draco's right and it took every last bit of restraint he had in him to not whip his head in that direction, because he knew that voice! He knew it as well as his own after years of listening to it spitting curses at him and taunting him to that same voice calling out to him in desperation, yelling at him to grab his hand before the fire would consume them both.
He didn't want to look, but as footsteps descended loudly on the steps, the only sound breaking the stifling silence, his eyes were drawn to him anyways, because they always were, no matter the situation, no matter what was happening. It had always been like that ever since they had been eleven years old.
Harry Potter was striding to the witness stand, his movements full of confidence, his eyes sparking with determination though his face was otherwise quite blank. He was dressed in sober black robes, but somehow the git was still surrounded by raw power; his magic buzzing around him so intently Draco swore he could feel it vibrating in his bones.
He had once thought that Potter was nothing but a weak git, someone who used his fame to get further in life. There was nothing weak about him now as he took a seat, his back straight, refusing to cower even when several of the Wizengamot members narrowed their eyes and started whispering to each other.
Draco wanted to tell the lot that glaring down Potter wouldn't have any effect on the wizard; he had after all tried that tactic for several years to no avail.
"You're here to testify against the Malfoys?" a rather heavy set wizard with a large bushy moustache asked rather eagerly; his small brown eyes glinting almost maliciously.
Potter smiled blankly. "No, I'm here to testify in favour of them."
For a couple of seconds, stunned silence reigned until the spectators started roaring in protest, joined by several of the Wizengamot members who demanded to know what the hell Potter was thinking and did he actually realise what he was saying right now? He couldn't actually be wanting to testify in favour of the Malfoys!
And all the while, as Shacklebolt tried to restore the order, Potter sat there with an affable look on his face as if dozens of people weren't currently trying to destroy his eardrums.
Once, green eyes met grey ones and held them for a couple of seconds. Draco was unable to read Potter's face, had no clue what the hell the other guy was thinking and a heavy feeling filled his stomach as he realised that his fate was almost directly tied to whatever Potter was planning on telling the court. Furious as several of the members were, Potter's word would still have sway, simply because of who he was and what role he had played in the war. They would never try to discredit the word of the war's biggest hero.
Whether Potter's testimony was actually going to be in their favour, though … That remained to be seen.
Why even was he willing to testify in favour of them? Draco had hardly built up any goodwill with him when they were still at school and it wasn't as if Lucius had left such an amazing impression either. Or was he only going to testify in favour of mother? It was true that mother had somehow helped him in the forest, so perhaps Potter was trying to resolve the Life Debt he owned her by testifying in her favour?
Eventually Shacklebolt fired off several explosions in the air in order to silence everyone, barking that the next person to disturb the peace would be forcibly removed from the room.
"Go on, Mister Potter," he said, lowering his wand and folding his hands together. "What kind of evidence do you have that would be in favour of them?"
"Regarding Narcissa Malfoy, that is easy," Potter started; his voice ringing through the room. "If it hadn't been for her interference, I might not have survived the battle with Voldemort after all."
Several witches and wizards flinched at the name, but Potter went on as if he didn't notice their flinching. "She risked her own life by lying straight into Voldemort's face about my condition. I don't know many people who would dare to do that, let alone be willing. I'd think that would speak for itself."
"She still married a Death Eater!" a witch with wild brown curls argued, pointing at mother.
Potter raised an eyebrow at her. "I wasn't aware family ties are enough to condemn someone nowadays. If that's the case, then you shouldn't be sitting here either, hm? If I remember correctly, you're related to the Lestranges, are you not?" His tone was friendly, innocent even to the point of nearly sounding naïve, but his eyes were practically spitting flames and the witch in question reddened at once, hunching her shoulders.
"I – of course not, family ties aren't enough to condemn someone, surely not," she stammered, but Potter turned away from her, dismissing her entirely.
If Draco wasn't feeling so sick at the moment, he would have applauded Potter for such a gracious display of tearing someone down effectively. Even mother would be hard pressed to find a fault with that, he was sure.
"Regarding Lucius Malfoy then, do you have something to say in favour of him?" Shacklebolt asked; a serene smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Now Potter hesitated visibly and sighed; his gaze quickly flitting over the three of them before he looked away. "I'm not going to pretend that Mister Malfoy is innocent, because he's far from it."
Several members started to look delighted, uttering eager noises even as they leant forwards. Father meanwhile just sat there with a blank face, staring at Potter.
"That said, he's also not as evil as several witnesses have made him out to be," Potter continued. "I will never be a fan of him, but I'm not going to make up stories either. Yes, he tortured people; I saw that in the visions Voldemort unknowingly shared with me. However, during this war, he didn't appear as if he was willingly torturing them."
"If he had no problems torturing people in the first war, why do you think he would feel guilty about it now?" an elderly wizard demanded hotly.
"Because the first war is not the second one," Potter retorted. "I imagine that during the first one he didn't have Voldemort taking over his house and punishing him for his failure in retrieving something at the Ministry here. I imagine that during the first one, his wife and his son weren't constantly being threatened by the same person he swore loyalty to all those years before."
The elderly wizard frowned, but didn't say anything.
"As I said, I'm not going to pretend he's an angel. Convict him, because he did commit crimes ever since Voldemort returned. But punish him for the crimes he willingly committed and keep the circumstances of the others in mind. I know worse people have passed through here before his trial and you were willing to be lenient towards them."
Several members started reddening and Draco wondered what the story was behind that. He couldn't find it in him to care at the moment.
Potter's testimony was probably the best one father could hope for. Draco wasn't so naïve to think that father would walk out today as a free man; he had done too much for that. But perhaps the court would be willing to listen to Potter's request and father's punishment wouldn't be so harsh as it would have been without Potter's interference. That was all they could hope for at the moment.
"And Draco Malfoy? Do you have anything to say in his defence?" Shacklebolt inquired and his gaze briefly landed on the blond man in question.
"Surely not!" a wizard with a thin face and a unibrow scoffed aloud in the fourth row. "Their rivalry is legendary even beyond the borders of Hogwarts!"
"Mister Shacklebolt asked me, not you," Potter remarked unruffled and the wizard sneered, but surprisingly remained quiet.
This time Draco had a hard time looking at the stand and chose to stare at the ground again, unwilling to face Potter. If Potter decided to throw him to the wolves now, he wouldn't be able to blame him one bit. Merlin knew he'd been a right git throughout these last seven years.
"It is true that Draco and I aren't exactly friends," Potter started and a shock went through Draco's body at hearing his first name leave Potter's mouth so casually.
It had his cheeks stinging for reasons unknown and he swallowed; feeling too hot all of a sudden.
"But just like his mother, he is part of the reason why I'm standing here today and not Voldemort," Potter said. "When my friends and I were caught and brought to their manor, Draco could have easily identified me. I know he recognised me immediately and he stood everything to gain from telling the others who I really was. No doubt he and his family would have climbed higher in the ranks once more if he had positively identified me. But he didn't."
Potter shifted a bit, settling more comfortably against the hard back of his seat. "He kept quiet, even when his aunt demanded him to tell the truth. It's also thanks to his wand that I was able to battle Voldemort and defeat him."
"But he still became a Death Eater," a witch reminded him. "That's not something you can defend."
"Defend perhaps not, but I can understand it in a way," Potter replied to everyone's shock. "You all seem too eager to forget just how young he and I are. He was barely sixteen when he accepted the Mark and - "
"Sixteen or not, that's basically an adult," another wizard with a large scar running over his nose interrupted him harshly. "Accepting the Mark isn't a child's mistake! Killing Dumbledore isn't a mistake!"
"He didn't actually kill Dumbledore," Potter refuted calmly. "He tried to, but he couldn't. Someone else did it instead. And that's really the theme of Draco's life when it comes to things like that: he tries to be evil, but he fails, because he doesn't have the cruelty for it. He accepted the Mark in exchange for his parents' safety and not because Voldemort promised him something enticing. He tried to kill Dumbledore, but he couldn't in the end. He could have identified me in the manor, but he didn't. Draco Malfoy might be a Death Eater, a very unwilling one, but he isn't a murderer. He isn't a monster."
"He still took the Mark and still took actions that brought other people's lives in danger," yet another witch argued fervently.
"You mean the actions he took whilst fearing for his life and that of his parents?" Potter lifted an eyebrow. "Actions which were taken during a war? Actions which were taken by other people as well, but who you refused to convict because of extenuating circumstances? We can go on and on, Madam, but if you seek to convict everyone who did something wrong during the war, then I'm afraid not many people would be left in the room, right?"
His voice was silky at the end, pleasant to the ears, but only an absolute idiot wouldn't detect the danger lurking underneath the silkiness, the sweet smile full with poison that he gifted the members with.
Not much else was said after that. The members were oddly subdued as they discussed the punishment they could give to the Malfoys, while Potter silently made his way back to his seat, appearing completely unperturbed even with the heavy gazes of the spectators aimed at him.
Only now did Draco see that Granger was here as well, sitting just as calm and composed as Potter. She bent down to murmur something to him and he nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips.
Draco wished he was close enough to hear what they were saying.
The sentencing was just as brief as the discussion had been. Mother was completely exonerated, none of the charges credible enough to stick. Father received five years in Azkaban with an additional five years of having his wand monitored.
Draco received two years of house arrest and would have his wand monitored for the same amount of time. And that was it. No decades' long prison sentence for father, no prison sentence for him and mother had been cleared of all charges.
All thanks to Potter's interference.
When Draco went to turn to Potter's seat, however, wanting to thank him for his help, the man was gone, having easily disappeared as he had appeared in Draco's life.
The next couple of years went by without anything out of the ordinary happening. Draco sat out his house arrest and never reacted to the taunts some of the Aurors subjected him to whenever they visited the manor to check his wand. He and mother were able to visit father once a month – an admission of Shacklebolt himself, because it was obvious that the Auror tasked to accompany him each time wasn't particularly happy with it.
During his two years of house arrest he spent all his time studying the theoretical aspects of potions, unable to get his hands on any ingredients as long as he was being monitored. The second his house arrest was over, however, he wrote to several Potions Masters, asking for an apprenticeship. Potions had always been one of the few mainstays he had in his life, his love for it fuelled by Severus' teachings.
Thinking about the older man still left him with an uncomfortable lump in his throat, even two years after the man's death, but he thought that going forth with his Potions mastery would be a good way to honour his old professor. A way that left them connected even with the other wizard gone.
Getting a Potions mastery, however … That was easier said than done. One after the another rejected him. Not because of his lack of potion knowledge, that at least they dared to admit was more than sufficient enough. No, they refused to take him on as a student simply because of his last name and his past.
None of the Potions Masters wanted their name tied to someone who had been a Death Eater in the past, no matter how reluctant that had been. No Potions Master, that was, until Draco received a letter from one Helena Hawk, who suggested they meet in the Leaky Cauldron to hash out the details of his studies.
Helena Hawk was a rather young looking witch still, but her severe face reminded him so much of McGonagall that he didn't hesitate to comply when she ordered him to sit down in front of her.
"So, you want to further your studies in potions, hm?" she mused, eyeing him sharply with her grey blue coloured eyes. A pair of glasses shoved on top of her head kept her wild dark brown locks out of her face.
"Yes, I'd like to become a Potions Master," he replied, ignoring the heavy stares of some of the other patrons.
Tom had gazed at him contemplatively for a bit when he had entered the pub, but he seemed to have decided that as long as Draco was a paying customer, he didn't care what he had done.
"Who was your teacher in school?" she asked, sipping from her coffee.
"Severus Snape for the most part, though Horace Slughorn taught me for a while as well," he replied; his own mug with Butterbeer waiting in front of him. He didn't dare to drink from it yet, though; his stomach too knotted together with nerves.
"Severus, hm? He was an excellent Potions Master," she murmured and crossed her arms, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling as if she could see him there. "Very inventive with potions as well; that man knew his craft very well indeed."
Draco remained quiet, not really knowing what to say in response to that. It was true that Snape had been incredibly gifted when it came to potions. Draco had always wondered why the man had chosen to teach instead of brewing in peace, as it had been more than abundantly clear that Snape didn't enjoy teaching at all.
He stiffened when her gaze snapped down at him again and she leant forwards with a dangerous smile. "All right, listen up. Normally I don't take students because frankly, I don't have the patience to deal with idiots. You were taught by Severus, however, which means that at the very least you're not a completely hopeless case."
Bewildered, he wondered whether Hawk and Snape had been some sort of friends in the past; she did at least seem to possess the same sort of humour as he had.
"That said, I'm still not completely sold on you," she went on and sipped from her coffee again. "So let me propose something: if you can find a way to make the Wolfsbane Potion even the slightest bit tastier, I'll accept you as my student. What do you think?"
"The Wolfsbane Potion," he repeated flatly. "One of the most difficult ones to brew and impossible to modify. That one."
"Yes, that one," she smirked; her eyes gleaming amused. "If you want to call yourself a Potions Master one day, you need to be able to brew all sorts of potions, no matter their difficulty level. I'm not asking you to do the impossible and make it taste like chocolate. If you manage to make it even the slightest bit tastier, I consider it a success and will accept you as my student."
"And who's going to test whether I succeeded?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you're keeping a secret of your own?"
She laughed. "No, not that kind of secret." She winked before growing sober. "An acquaintance of mine was unfortunate to receive the bite. He'll be the judge whether or not you succeeded."
She stood up then, wrapping her cloak around her. "Oh, and Mister Malfoy? You have one month and a half to brew the potion and come up with a way to adept it. Good luck."
With that she practically swept out of the pub, leaving Draco frozen behind at the table. One month and a half to not only prepare one of the most difficult potions in existence, but also manage to adapt it to make it taste better when so far nobody had succeeded in that? That woman was mad!
And yet when he rose up from the table as well, determination filled him like fire and excitement, something he hadn't experienced in such a long time – perhaps the last time had been during a class with Snape – coursed through his veins. Yes, Wolfsbane Potion was notoriously difficult to brew – but when had he ever backed down from a challenge?
So she wanted an adapted version of the Wolfsbane Potion to test his worth as her student? Well, she was going to get it and he was going to make damn sure that he could call himself her student in one month and a half.
It took several long nights, multiple botched batches and hours of ranting to mother to finally find the solution. It was so simple, so ordinary that he could hit himself for not having come up with it sooner.
"You're certain that will work, Dragon?" Mother asked quietly, watching from the corner of his lab how he carefully selected the most perfect looking petals.
"Completely certain, no," he admitted, staring down at the blood red petals. "But it's the only thing I can think of that might actually work. Sugar doesn't work, syrup either and everything else has been tried before – except for this."
This was a collection of fresh rose petals, thirteen in total. They were perfect, not a bruise or a tiny rip to be seen. They also were perfectly edible, tasting sweet, and hopefully could be added to the potion without completely ruining it.
He had looked through all the books he could get his hands on, but none of them mentioned rose petals ever having been tried out in Wolfsbane Potion. None of the books mentioned either that the combination of rose petals and Wolfsbane Potion was a bad idea, so he was taking a chance with this concoction now and hope to Merlin that he wasn't about to blow up the entire manor.
Casting several protection charms and hearing mother do the same, he set about carefully lowering each petal in the cauldron, watching tersely how the potion bubbled furiously whenever a petal landed on the surface. They rested on top of the potion for just three seconds before they completely dissolved one by one.
After lowering the thirteenth petal in the cauldron, he watched tensed how the liquid bubbled roughly, rising up in the cauldron until it threatened to spill over the edge, before it abruptly calmed down and turned back to its regular state, emitting a faint blue smoke.
Draco stared at it for a while longer, only vaguely aware of mother lowering her shield.
Either he had managed to accomplish something nobody had ever accomplished before – or he had just majorly fucked up.
Guess he would only know when he met up with Hawk in two days.
Three days later he received a letter from Hawk, asking for the rest of the batch for her friend and a mention of the date she expected to see him at her lab in order to start his studies underneath her guidance.
He would never admit it to anyone, but he kept the letter preserved carefully underneath several charms even years after he completed his mastery with Hawk.
Because it was proof that at least someone had been willing to look past his name and had acknowledged his skills.
He hadn't seen or interacted with Potter in years, not since the war had ended. Oh sure, he had some vague idea of what the Boy Hero was doing nowadays, courtesy of the ever too curious Daily Prophet, who were all too eager to give details about Potter's Auror work.
So he knew that Potter had become an Auror and was on his way to become the youngest Head Auror in centuries, because of course Potter not only had to have been the youngest Seeker, but he also had to smash records at the Ministry because he lived for that obviously.
He also knew that Potter and the Weaslette had broken up not too long after the war, but that was about it. He and Potter lived in two different worlds and there was no way for their paths to ever cross again.
That was until one hot summer's day in June when a house elf popped up into Draco's lab, announcing that Mister Potter and Mister Rivers wanted to speak to him.
Draco blinked, taken aback by the request and unwillingly he ran a mental check through what he had done the last couple of months. He had brewed several potions but none of them on the illegal side and all his contracts were legit, so there was no reason for Aurors to speak to him. Unless someone was falsely accusing him of something …
A tad apprehensive, he quickly cleaned his hands, put a Stasis charm over the two cauldrons, and went upstairs to the foyer where Potter and a light brown haired wizard were waiting for him.
Rivers, he assumed was the second man, regarded him with suspicion in his dark brown eyes, and Draco barely concealed a sigh. Clearly even ten years after the war, some Aurors would never let him forget what he had done.
Potter, on the other hand, greeted him with a nod and an almost imperceptible smile. "Our apologies for disturbing you, but we would like to request your help with one of our cases."
Draco raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the two men. "And who's 'we'?"
"Mark and I have been tracking down a criminal whose modus operandi is sending his victims a present containing a vial which explodes the second they touch the box," Potter started explaining and took out a brown velvet bag out of a larger bag on the table. "We managed to catch him two days ago and prevented his last victim from touching the box, but the problem is that all his previous victims are still in the hospital and none of the Healers, Mediwizards or Mediwitches can figure out the antidote to the potion he used. As you can imagine he's also not very willing to tell us what he used in it."
"He created it?" Draco surmised, frowning slightly.
Potter nodded and opened the bag, leaning it forwards so that Draco could catch a glimpse of the dark green vial in it. "Yes, we're pretty sure he did and nobody so far has managed to create the antidote. We were wondering if you would be willing to help us. You'd be compensated for your time, of course."
"And why do you assume I know how to create an antidote when I don't know what's in the potion?" Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Because Harry apparently thinks you know better than the Potions Masters at the Ministry," Rivers sneered and crossed his eyes.
"Because you're one of the best Potions Masters of the last decades," Potter answered simply, ignoring his partner.
"That's high praise coming from you," Draco scoffed.
The dark haired man cocked his head to the left. "Well, am I not talking to the first person who managed to make Wolfsbane Potion taste better?"
"How do you know about that?" Draco demanded, narrowing his eyes.
Potter had never been that great in potions and he had never shown any particular interest in it either, so how did he know that Draco had been the one to adapt the recipe for Wolfsbane Potion? That information had only appeared in a select few Potion magazines and Potter didn't strike him as someone who would willingly read those.
Instead of answering, Potter merely shrugged and smiled faintly. "I figured that if you manage to make such a potion taste better, you would have the best chance at finding an antidote to this potion. I know it's rather last minute, but the hospital only confirmed his morning that they're unable to create an antidote."
"There are still other Potions Masters we could ask," Rivers said annoyed before Draco could reply. "Potions Masters who have a better reputation than he does," he sneered, jerking his head at the blond.
"Mark, shut up, we've talked about this," Potter said sharply and while the other man glowered, he surprisingly remained silent.
Draco could easily refuse to help. He wasn't bound to the Ministry as a Potions Master, preferring to work privately and on his own terms, and so he wasn't obligated to accept the request. However, knowing that Potter knew about his success with the Wolfsbane Potion, hearing that it had been Potter's idea to ask his help – because it definitely hadn't been Rivers' judging by his attitude – he was loathe to refuse.
Because twenty-eight years old he might be now, but there was still a part in him, no matter how small, that annoyingly revelled in having Potter's attention on him again, and this time even in a good way, which hadn't happened before.
That and being able to solve the mystery of the potion which so far nobody had been able to do was quite enticing as well, he wasn't going to lie. He loved besting others, especially when it came to potions.
So he inclined his head and accepted the bag, saying, "I'll see what I can do."
Maybe it was the look of pure frustration on Rivers' face who had clearly hoped Draco would refuse or the genuine smile playing around Potter's mouth when he thanked him, when Draco went back to his lab, he did so with excitement brewing in the pit of his stomach; an excitement he hadn't felt since Hawk had sent him his acceptance letter.
He had no idea who the criminal in question was, but one thing he was sure about: this guy had to have some form of Potions mastery at least, because the complicated formula of this potion wasn't created by a layman nor had it been thrown together in good luck.
This guy knew what he had been doing and it took Draco the better part of the week to figure out how many layers the potion had been composed of and then another five days to dissect the potion and find out which ingredients had been used.
He couldn't blame the hospital for not having any idea how to solve this, because the potion was so complicated, even he came close to giving up on finding an antidote. Just like some curses didn't have a counter curse, some potions didn't have an antidote and it looked like this potion was one of those.
It was only his sheer stubbornness and his innate desire to succeed where others had failed that kept him working on the potion until the late hours of the night, only momentarily stopping when mother ordered him to sleep. Father sometimes inquired after his progress in the mornings when he took just enough time to eat breakfast, but he appeared mostly content to let Draco work in his lab, while mother fretted that he was overworking himself.
He wasn't, he just didn't want to give up when he could feel how close he was to figuring out the solution. If he gave up now or slacked off, he never would discover a way to brew the antidote and there was no way he was going to give up so easily.
Twenty days after Potter and Rivers had shown up at the manor, he added the last component to the antidote – slivers of a bezoar stone – and watched with bated breath how the dark blue liquid bubbled and spat for a moment, swirling around like a mini tornado had formed in the centre of the cauldron before settling down; near translucent smoke bubbles emitting from it.
Grimly, he put a couple of drops of the potion on a rat, which quickly started to audibly choke and scratch at his throat, uttering awful squeaking noises. Three drops of the antidote straight into the rat's throat had the rat colouring green for just a moment before he calmed down and he returned to his regular brown coat. When Draco released him, the cat scurried off to some hay in the corner of his cage, glaring at him balefully, but fine otherwise.
His behaviour confirmed what Draco had suspected, though: he had successfully managed to create an antidote to the potion. It had taken him longer than he would have liked, but he had succeeded and that was all that counted. Besides, if Potter had wanted him to finish sooner, he shouldn't have waited that long to notify him.
Whistling, he went upstairs to grab some parchment and ink, so he could inform Potter that the antidote was finished.
"Yes?" he called out distracted when knocking on the door to his lab finally registered.
As footsteps carefully made their way down the stairs, he said, "I'm almost done, mother, I just need to pour this potion in the vials and then I'll have dinner."
"I'm certain your mother will be pleased to hear that."
The unexpected amused tone had Draco whirling around in surprise, his mouth dropping open in shock for a couple of seconds before he remembered to close it.
Potter lingered near the stairs, a faint smile curling up the corners of his lips, and his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Sorry for the disturbance. Your mother assured me I could come here."
"Of course she did, that's her subtle way of letting me know I have to stop working," he muttered and rolled his eyes. She couldn't have simply sent a house elf instead? "What are you doing here?"
"Your antidote was a huge success," Potter informed him. "The last patient left the hospital this morning and they've all made a full recovery, even the ones who were worst off."
"Of course they did, otherwise I wouldn't have sent you the antidote," Draco scoffed and leant against the table behind him. "You could have told me this in a letter."
"I also wanted to apologise for Mark's behaviour last time," Potter said and grimaced; rubbing the back of his neck. "His comments were uncalled for and he should have kept his mouth shut."
Draco shrugged. "Can't say I was really surprised. Not everyone possesses the same ability to forgive or forget like some, Potter," he drawled. "Again, you could have told me this in a letter."
Potter grinned. "I haven't forgotten," he said and continued before Draco could comment on that, "I actually came here with another request."
"What, another criminal somehow smart enough to develop an unknown potion? You really do possess the same amount of luck you did in school, huh," Draco said unimpressed.
"My luck has stayed the same, that's true," Potter chuckled and the sound was so unsuspected, so surprising, that it had Draco staring at him. "But no, it's not that. I actually came here to ask whether I could take you out for dinner, as a thank you for helping me with this case. I know you have a lot of work of your own, so I really appreciate that you were willing to help me with this."
"You want to take me out for dinner as a thank you for not letting people die," Draco said sceptically. "And you want me to believe that?"
"Believe what you want," Potter replied and shrugged lightly. "Either way, I'm serious about the dinner. What do you think?"
"Depends – where would we have dinner?"
"Only the best for a Malfoy, of course," Potter smirked. "The Golden Goose in the Silver Alley, that fancy enough for you?"
Oho, the Golden Goose? Grey eyes narrowed.
The Golden Goose was one of the most high end restaurants one could find in Great-Britain, having opened its doors four years ago and having a steady client base of politicians, Quidditch players and other famous people. Their prices were steep, the food amazing, and last Draco heard, their closest open reservation was still three years from now.
"There's no way you have a reservation unless you're planning on thanking me in three years," Draco scoffed unimpressed.
Potter's smile was equal parts bashful as it was chagrined when he admitted, "No reservation necessary, they've reserved a table for me alone to use whenever I want."
"Guess your fame comes with some nice perks, hm?" Draco murmured and couldn't decide whether he was jealous or impressed that Potter had managed to have a table reserved for him alone at the restaurant.
He didn't think even the Minister himself had managed that feat.
"Guess so," Potter agreed instead of defending himself like he would have in the past. "You want to enjoy that perk together with me?"
"It's going to be all over the papers tomorrow," Draco warned him, already imagining the headlines.
The Daily Prophet would have a field day with this if they caught wind of the fact that the famous Harry Potter was taking an ex-Death Eater out for dinner. Their heads might literally explode whilst writing the article and honestly, that was as good a reason as any to accept Potter's request.
"Let it be then," Potter replied calmly. "Gives them something else to talk about aside from my shoe choice."
Draco wished he could say Potter was being sarcastic, but he'd seen the articles: the Daily Prophet really had declined a lot in quality these past couple of years.
"Well, if you're so insistent on thanking me, who am I to refuse such an expensive dinner?" he said airily and his stomach didn't do an odd flip when Potter grinned at him.
Definitely not.
Somehow, he had no idea how, he and Potter kept seeing each other. First, it was that one dinner to thank him, then two weeks later, Potter showed up at the manor again, bearing lunch and apologies as he asked Draco's help again in figuring out the last ingredient of a deadly poison.
Then it was another lunch to thank him for his help once more, followed by a late breakfast when Draco had shown up at the Ministry to handle the registration for his potion business in order to get his hands on the more restricted ingredients.
That late breakfast was followed by an equally late lunch again as Potter apologised for keeping him after he'd nearly run into him in the foyer.
Late breakfasts and the occasional lunch or dinner made way for Potter showing up for tea time at the manor, invited by mother.
The first time Potter showed up for tea time, he looked equally bewildered as Draco felt, while father sat there with a suffering look on his face and mother appearing entirely too pleased.
"Why did you invite him?" Draco demanded as soon as Potter had left, explaining he still had some work left to finish up.
Why he thought anyone would be interested in hearing his reason, Draco didn't know, but he supposed the other man had felt like he needed to be polite towards Draco's mother. He did appreciate that; no matter if they got along better nowadays – and wasn't that a weird concept to consider? – he definitely would have had words and curses ready if Potter decided to be rude towards Narcissa.
"Yes, Narcissa, please do tell," Father said; a faint hint of annoyance lurking in his voice.
"Why wouldn't I have? You two seem to get along just fine these days and it's always better to bury the past instead of linger in it," she replied and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you would mind considering you have lunch or dinner with him at least once a week, Draco."
"I do not!" he started to protest, but then quietened down as he thought about it.
Well shit, he did eat lunch or have dinner together with Potter once a week at least. How the bloody hell had that even happened? Was Potter still thanking him for something?
Mother clucked her tongue and stroked his cheek as she walked past him. "You'll figure it out, my darling," she said warmly.
"Figure out what?" he asked perplexed, but she was already gone, leaving him behind with father, who wore a frown but looked equally as bemused.
Well, good to know Draco wasn't the only one confused by mother's mysterious comment.
Draco figured it out one evening in late August.
The weather was still cloying and too warm even at this late hour of the day and one of them – he was inclined to think it had been Potter, because Potter always came up with inane ideas – had suggested they got into the lake to cool off for a bit after they had chased down a Snitch for hours.
Today was one of the rare days they both had taken some time off and they had filled that free time with playing Seeker games. The rush those games had given him had reminded Draco of the many Quidditch games he had played against Gryffindor, recalling all too well the adrenaline rush racing through his veins as he and Potter had chased after the Snitch every time, using every trick they had known to throw the other off the Snitch's tail.
That had been so many years ago, and yet the rush today had still felt the same as he and Potter had raced after the Snitch; each one determined to beat the other one even years later.
They had both been red faced and sweaty beyond belief by the time they had set foot down on the ground again and with a lake nearby, the decision had been quickly made.
"Isn't this better than being cooped up in your lab the entire time?" Potter grinned, swimming closer to him. His glasses were discarded along with his clothes and his green eyes looked almost luminous in the dying sunlight; his black hair slicked back.
"One day, you'll appreciate the intricacies of potions, Potter," Draco sniffed.
"That's not a no," Potter pointed out amused; his green eyes glittering.
Only now did Draco become aware of just how close Potter had swum to him, how clear those eyes looked without glasses obscuring them. How very much naked they were, only their underwear keeping their last bit of modesty preserved, though one could wonder how much effect their underwear still had when they were up until their chests in the water.
"Admit it, this was a lot more fun than brewing potions is," Potter teased.
"I'm not admitting anything," Draco scoffed, all too aware suddenly how close they were right now. Had they been this close before? He couldn't remember.
"So stubborn," Potter murmured; his voice almost lost underneath the rippling water.
As always with Potter, Draco had no clue who moved first; it could have been Potter himself, it could have been him. All he knew was that one second they were gazing at each other, the setting sun creating a halo around Potter; the next their mouths found each other and what started out as a tentative kiss at first soon grew in intensity, their hands clutching at each other's shoulders.
It was when Potter nipped at his lower lip playfully that Draco abruptly realised what they were doing and he pulled back quickly, his stomach performing several flips when Potter whined in protest.
"What were we doing?" Draco asked dumbfounded and he realised he sounded stupid, but his head was a mess and he was still holding on to too warm shoulders and yet he couldn't bring himself to remove his hands as well, something keeping them anchored around Potter.
Green eyes blinked. "We were kissing," Potter replied slowly, looking like he was silently questioning Draco's intelligence.
That earnt him a slap against his shoulder. "I know that!" Draco scowled.
"Well, you asked!"
"Why did we kiss?"
"I don't know about you, but I wanted to," Potter replied and while his tone was light-hearted, there was a hint of nerves visible in the depths of his eyes. "Don't know about you, though."
"Guess I wanted it too …" Draco trailed off and frowned, glancing at their discarded brooms. "Was this a date?"
"Depends. If you want it to be one, then yes. If not, we can forget this ever happened," Potter answered and his eyes started to shutter close.
Even though Potter was still physically close to him, Draco could practically feel him withdrawing emotionally, prepared to pull up the walls again Draco hadn't even realised had been lowered and fuck that, he wasn't going to let that happen.
"Oh no, you're not going to get off this easily," he growled and curled his fingers around black strands, tugging at them harshly.
Potter hissed, but didn't make any attempt whatsoever to free himself, which implied interesting things that Draco wasn't ready yet to contemplate at the moment.
"This is a date and this means you're now my boyfriend, Potter," he said imperiously, even as his cheeks heated up a bit at the juvenile term, but whatever, he had a point to make here before the other man could start thinking stupid things.
That had Potter smiling way too brightly and he closed his arms around Draco's waist. "Well, if that's so, how about you call me Harry then, Draco?"
Well, he thought, a shiver running down his spine as Harry pressed closer to him, I suppose I can do that.
"I'll see you tonight," Harry smiled, giving him one last lingering kiss before he stepped back, wrapping his morning robe tighter around himself.
"Hm, try not to get yourself pierced by a dragon's claw again," Draco said dryly, but unwillingly his eyes flicked down to Harry's waist where at this moment a faint pink scar was still visible.
He and a couple of other Aurors had been tracking down dragon smugglers and yesterday they had finally found their hiding place – and three very pissed off dragons. Harry had only barely managed to escape being clawed in half by one of them, but he'd still suffered a deep cut across his stomach when a claw had clipped too close.
"I'll do my best," Harry smiled wryly.
Draco sighed, knowing that was the best he was going to get from someone whose luck was so shit yet so incredible at the same time and threw a pinch of Floo powder in the fire, calling out, "Malfoy Manor!"
"Have you invited Harry over for Christmas yet, dear?" was the first thing that he heard when he stepped out of the fireplace.
"A good morning to you too, mother," he said dryly, casting a spell to remove the remaining stubborn specks of soot on his robes.
"Well, have you?" She stood in the middle of the foyer, already dressed in a beautiful pale blue gown.
Even here the room didn't escape the Christmas decorating mania of the house elves; the doorframe surrounded by twinkling lights and a wreath hanging above the fireplace. With only four days left to go before it was Christmas, the house elves were frantically working to get everything decorated on time.
"No, I haven't," he said clipped and strode past her, eager to escape to his lab before she could ask more questions.
No dice.
She simply followed him down the stairs. "Christmas is in four days, Draco," she reminded him as if he could have possibly forgotten about that. "You shouldn't wait too long with asking him, you know that."
"Look, I'm not planning on inviting him, all right?" he said through gritted teeth; his movements jerkily as he removed his robes and stored them away safely.
"Why not?" she asked bemused, folding her hands in front of her. "You're four months together, surely that's long enough to invite him over? We'd love to spend Christmas with him."
Draco wasn't entirely certain whether that 'we' included father as well, but at the very least curses hadn't been thrown about yet during the last four months whenever Harry visited the manor, so it could be said that father was willing to keep the peace somewhat. Or perhaps he just didn't want to irritate mother, which was also a possibility.
Because mother absolutely adored Harry and father was wise enough not to go against her. Father might be the patriarch but mother held the reigns and what she said, happened. And if she said to accept Harry, then by Merlin, father would accept him or suffer the consequences.
It was nice that she was so accepting about his relationship, but it could become quite awkward at times as well, when she deemed it necessary to regal Harry with all sorts of stories about Draco when he had been little still.
Harry still wouldn't let him forget that Draco had begged to be told the story about the Boy-Who-Lived every evening for more than a year when he'd been five years old.
"As you've said, mother, we've been together for only four months," he smiled thinly and heaved the cauldron onto the table. "I'm certain he already has plans made with his friends."
As accepting as mother had been, just as standoffish had Granger and Weasley reacted when Harry had introduced him officially as his boyfriend. Only Granger's quick interference had prevented Weasley from cursing him, but the man had turned an ugly shade of red and had stormed out of the room before Harry could have said anything else.
Four months later and he and Granger could see somewhat eye to eye, even managing to have polite conversations as long as they steered clear from politics, but Weasley proved to be a lost case so far, unwilling to even look at Draco and being forced to be in the same room with him had the Weasel glaring at him nonstop.
Draco didn't particularly care about Weasley's reaction. He had no interest in gaining his approval, except that he didn't want Harry to feel like he was constantly being pulled apart by his friends and his boyfriend, so he attempted to be as civil as possible. That had as the benefit that it made him look better than Weasley, who ended up looking like a sore loser unwilling to let go of the past, so he wasn't complaining about that.
"You don't know unless you ask," Mother stated and then sighed. "What's really bothering you, my dragon?"
"Nothing's bothering me," he replied annoyed, bending down to search for the cutting board.
"I've never known you to give up so quickly," she said, clearly determined not to give up on this subject. "So why are you refusing to invite him over? I thought your relationship was going well?"
"There's nothing wrong with our relationship, mother," he sighed, growing more agitated the longer she remained standing there.
"Then you'll have no problems inviting him over for Christmas," she said resolutely and started ascending the stairs again. "Please do let me know what his answer is so that I can inform the house elves on time. Don't overwork yourself, darling."
And then she was gone, the door falling shut behind her.
Leaving Draco standing in front of the table, his gaze unseeing as he stared at the empty cauldron; his hands clenching into fists.
Invite Harry over for Christmas? He wished it was that easy. But just as much as he enjoyed winning, just as much did he loathe the thought of being rejected.
There was no way Harry would choose celebrating Christmas at the Malfoy Manor over celebrating it with his friends. Perhaps if they had been together for a year by now, then Draco would have felt more confident about inviting him, but four months? It still felt like they were barely scratching the surface, despite having known each other for so long already. He wasn't in the mood to be faced with Harry's sympathetic face when he would tell him he already had made plans with the Weasleys.
A boyfriend of four months against friends for seventeen years? That was a lost match from the start.
He wasn't even going to try to hope for another outcome, because he had learnt long ago that hope was worthless in the end. He would try to invite him next year if they were still together by then, but now he absolutely refused.
No sense in asking the question when he already knew the answer after all.
"Fuck!" Teeth clamped down in his neck, biting down but not breaking the skin, and bright lights flashed across his eyes when muscles clenched down around his cock, triggering his own climax.
He was only vaguely aware of legs clamping down tightly around his waist, feet pressed against his arse keeping him inside Harry as he came deep inside of him; his moans barely muffled by swollen lips.
His legs felt like jelly when he slumped down next to Harry and he knew they should take a shower, but for now he was unwilling to move, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling.
"Shit, I needed that," Harry said breathlessly and even exhausted as he was, Draco still chuckled.
When he pressed the mark in his neck carefully with two fingers, he winced at the sting, but his fingers came back clear, so his skin was indeed not broken. "Apparently," he drawled, running his hand over Harry's thigh when the man slung it across his legs. "Makes me wonder what you'll do if you come back from a mission that takes up weeks."
"Probably keep you in bed for days," Harry snickered and nuzzled his cheek. "Don't tell me you didn't miss me these past two days."
"Tch, we're not all as needy as you are, Potter," Draco scoffed, smirking when Harry pinched his side.
"You're awful," the dark haired man commented, but he still settled firmly against Draco's side, hugging his waist.
They were quiet for a while, listening to the wind howling outside. Through the small gap in the curtains, Draco could see little snowflakes fluttering down and he smiled faintly, thinking that Teddy, Harry's godson, would probably love to play in the snow tomorrow.
"So, are we going to celebrate Christmas together or at the manor with your parents?" Harry asked casually, but his question was so out of the blue that Draco could only turn his head and stare at him.
Harry stared back. "What? It's an honest question."
"You want to spend Christmas with me?" Draco questioned cautiously, wondering if his hearing had suddenly abandoned him.
"Well, yeah, of course," Harry replied confused. "Who else would I spend it with?"
"Your friends? Don't you normally celebrate it with them?"
"Yeah, but I've got a boyfriend now, so why wouldn't I want to spend it with my boyfriend instead?" Harry asked cheekily, pecking his lips. "I can spend Boxing Day with them, no big deal."
"You're sure? You really want to celebrate Christmas with me?" Draco asked urgently; his heart starting to beat quicker.
"Of course I'm sure. What's got into you?" Harry asked perplexed. "Why wouldn't I want to spend it with you?"
Why indeed.
He rolled on top of him and kissed him deeply, pouring everything he felt for the other man in it, all the things he didn't dare to say aloud yet.
What he did say aloud, was, "Yes, we're going to celebrate Christmas at the manor. Together."
Because that last part was the most important one of them all.
It was when he and Harry arrived together at the manor on Christmas day, as he watched his boyfriend delight mother with the beautiful bouquet he had bought for her and even impress father with the high quality of the Elven wine he had got him, that Draco realised that hope wasn't always worthless.
Because sometimes hope led to celebrating Christmas with your parents and your boyfriend, even when you had assumed that wouldn't happen yet. Sometimes it led to sharing kisses underneath the mistletoe and hearing mother laugh as Harry told an amusing story about his godson. It led to his boyfriend and his father holding a civilised conversation over a glass of perfect Elven wine for what might be the first time in four months.
Yes, sometimes it was good to hope. A good thing he had Harry to remind him of that.
The End
AN2: Like I said, a disaster from start to finish. I really have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this *sweatdrops*
That said, I hope it wasn't too awful! Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
I hope to see you all back in my future stories and I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Please stay safe and take care of yourselves!
Cuddles
Melissa
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Time of Hope